Morning Hours
by Sita Z
Summary: Trip can't help it, it's a Tucker disease. Slash, TripMalcolm.


Disclaimer: Not making any money etc.

AN: Thanks to Romanse for betaing!

Please note that this is Slash (not graphic at all), so if that's not your cup of tea...

The sharp-fanged angst bunnies keep chewing me, but I managed to get away from them long enough to write this. Hope you enjoy it!

August 19, 2153, 0650 Ship's Time

„…Trip?"

„Mmmmpfh."

Malcolm waited. When there was no further response, he rolled over and nudged one bare shoulder.

"Trip."

The shoulder disappeared as the blankets were pulled up, revealing two feet at the other end. "Murmmmpfhhh."

Malcolm sighed and tugged at the blankets, which tugged back, tightly bunched in the fist of one recalcitrant Chief Engineer. One recalcitrant Chief Engineer who had to be on duty in forty minutes.

"Trip, it's time to get up."

"Mmmhhhhnlyfwmremnutes."

Malcolm, who was well-versed in his partner's morning speak, shook his head at the nearly incoherent grunt. "No more minutes, Trip. There are no " minutes" planned in our morning schedule and if you don't get up now, we'll get into a rush. Now give those up."

He tugged at the blankets again, more insistent this time. He knew that more likely than not, Trip had not heard a word he'd said and wasn't to be swayed by words, anyway. In the early morning, raw force was the method most likely to work if one wanted to get a Tucker out of bed. Logical reasoning, Malcolm knew, was the one least likely to have any effect.

"Trip. Wake up. I'm not going to tell you again."

"Mmmmpffhhhhhkay. In a minute."

Malcolm sighed. There was only one thing left for him to do, or Trip would doze until the very last minute and then execute a light-speed start which would leave him groggy and grumpy for the better part of the morning. How the man had managed to get out of bed when no one had been around to kick him out, Malcolm did not know. Then again, he remembered more than one occasion early in their voyage when Trip had arrived at the morning briefing a few minutes late, mumbling something about a malfunctioning shower.

_More like an inability to pay attention to the alarm clock_, Malcolm thought as he grabbed a fistful of blanket. It still amazed him how anyone could be so utterly ignorant of the fact that pretending not to have heard the alarm didn't stop the time from passing.

With both hands, he gave the blankets one hard yank. Trip yelped as he was flipped over on his back in a rather undignified manner.

"Good morning, love," Malcolm said with a sweet smile. "Had a good sleep?"

Trip blinked a few times, then turned his head to glower at him. "Whatcha do that for?"

Malcolm looked pointedly at the alarm clock. "You're going to be late."

Trip blearily stared at the digits on the bedside display, as if trying to fathom their metaphysical implications. After a few seconds, his eyes began to droop again, and, before Malcolm could stop him, he had turned back over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow.

"'nly a few m're m'nutes, Mal..."

Malcolm sighed.

August 24, 2153, 0720 Ship's Time

Malcolm shot up from the bed.

"Bloody buggery hell!"

A glance at the alarm clock confirmed his fears. There were exactly ten minutes left until he had to be on the bridge; ten minutes to shower, shave and try not to die from a sudden spike in his blood pressure. Malcolm Reed had never been late for duty, and he would not be today.

"Trip!"

All he got in reply was a snore. Already halfway to the bathroom, Malcolm groaned and hurried back to the bed, grabbed one bare foot and tugged at it none too gently.

"Trip, get up! You turned off the alarm again, and we overslept!"

The foot disappeared under the covers, accompanied by an annoyed grunt. "Msleepin."

Malcolm couldn't believe it. Precious seconds were ticking by, and the big blond lump in his bed wouldn't even recognize the fact that they were late. "Mistah Tuckah, I've no intention of saying this again! Get up now, or I'll leave it to the Captain to drag your sorry arse out of bed when you fail to show up for your shift!"

Trip had pulled the pillow over his head. Malcolm could hear his muffled voice through the fabric. "Mmmmrrrrjstafwmremnutes..."

"That does it!" Malcolm turned around and stalked into the bathroom, quickly divesting himself of his shorts before he stepped into the shower cubicle. Only twenty seconds later, he jumped back out, and almost slipped on a pair of bright green boxer shorts as he fumbled for his towel.

"Trip!" Malcolm poked his dripping head out of the bathroom door. "Didn't I tell you not to leave your- will you bloody well _get up_?!"

The only reaction from the bed was a grunt and a snore, muffled by the pillow. Towel in hand, Malcolm crossed the room in two quick strides and grabbed the covers, almost throwing Trip out of bed as he flung them to the floor.

"Trip, _get up_!"

Finally, Trip opened his eyes, obviously confused to see a wet and red-faced Malcolm Reed hovering over him. "Wha'?" he drawled, his voice thickened with sleep. "Whatcha-"

"LOOK AT THE TIME! NOW WILL YOU GET YOUR ARSE OUT OF BED?!"

Trip's eyes traveled to the alarm clock, and suddenly widened when he realized that he had to be on duty in exactly six minutes.

"Shit! Why didn't ya wake me, Mal?!"

Malcolm's answer was drowned out by a howl of pain as a wet towel smacked onto Trip's bare shoulder.

August 29, 2153, 0645 Ship's Time

"Ow!"

An elbow had bumped into his face, rudely startling him awake.

Malcolm blinked, and saw Trip's fist thumping the alarm clock, which had just emitted the first shrill beep. After the offending alarm had been silenced, the arm was withdrawn and bumped against Malcolm's face again on the way back.

"Ow! Watch it, will you!"

Trip mumbled something that might have been a "sorry", then turned over and pulled the covers up to his chin. Cold air hit Malcolm's feet, and he glanced down to find that his legs were bare, robbed of their covers by one Mr. Tucker, who was an incorrigible blanket hog and had somehow managed to wrap himself up in two blankets and a comforter at the same time.

Malcolm sighed. He had a late shift today and might have enjoyed another forty or fifty winks, after working late in the Armory last night. But it was not to be.

"Trip."

No reaction.

"Trip!" Malcolm grabbed the blanket heap where he guessed Trip's shoulder to be and shook him. "Trip, give up the blanket, will you? You have to get up, anyway."

"Mmmmmwannastayontheboat."

Malcolm blinked, then realized that Trip was probably still dreaming.

"Trip, it's time to get up. For you, anyway. I'm not going to drag you out of bed again, you hear me?"

The blankets moved as Trip tried to retreat further into his self-made cocoon. "Mmmmhhhphhh."

"Trip, I'm not going to tell you again."

"Ummmmmmhhphhh."

Malcolm sighed, rolled over and tried to get as comfortable as he could without his blanket. _He_ didn't care if Mister Tucker overslept again and had to make do without breakfast and his much-needed cup of coffee. _He_ wasn't the one who was chronically late in the morning.

Malcolm closed his eyes, determined to enjoy at least another half hour of well-earned sleep.

Five minutes later, he resigned to the fact that dozing was as close as he would get. Next to him, Trip snored noisily, buried in his bundle of blankets.

Ten minutes later, Malcolm was still awake, each snore from the other side of the bunk grating on his nerves. Didn't the man realize that he was going to be late?

Fifteen minutes later, Malcolm knew he couldn't stand this for one more second, determined as he'd been to teach Trip a lesson. He could not lie here and watch the minutes tick by when Trip should have been up almost twenty minutes ago. It was impossible.

He rolled over, facing the snoring blankets again. "Trip."

Snore.

"Commander Tucker."

Grunt.

"Trip, it's 0705. You have to be on duty in twenty-five minutes."

"Mmmmhhhj'stafewmremnutesmal."

For a moment, Malcolm was sorely tempted to choke the man with his very own pillow. As appealing an option as it seemed, though, he doubted whether it was worth the resulting paperwork.

"Trip, if you don't get up _right now_, I promise you you're going to regret it."

"Mmmmmaldarlinkeepitdownwillya?"

Malcolm regarded him for a moment, then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. Oh yes, the Yank was going to regret ruining Malcolm's late morning.

He went into the head, dodging various pieces of Trip's wardrobe on the way, and opened a small closet over the sink. The prefects at his boarding school used to do this to anyone stupid enough not to jump out of bed with the wake-up call, and although Malcolm had never been one of the unfortunate stragglers himself, he remembered just how effectively the method had worked. He had no doubt it would work with sleep-addicted Chief Engineers as well.

Adjusting the faucet to its coldest setting, Malcolm held the washcloth under the water until was thoroughly soaked, then wrung it out so as not to get the whole mess onto the floor.

Washcloth hidden behind his back, he went back into the main room. Trip, of course, was exactly where he had left him, far away in the land of nod.

"Last warning, Trip. Get out of bed now or there's going to be trouble."

"Mmmmmphhhhh."

_All right then_. Malcolm yanked back the covers and rubbed the cold, dripping washcloth over Trip's face. Trip's eyes flew open, and he sputtered and coughed as he jerked into a sitting position.

"What the hell-" Trip became aware of the washcloth in Malcolm's hand and drew in an outraged breath. "Why you little-"

"You were warned." Malcolm quickly side-stepped the expected attack, and watched with interest as Trip lost his balance and tumbled over the side of the bunk onto the floor. "Let that be a lesson to you, Mr. Tucker."

September 2, 2153, 0145 Ship's Time

"Shhh, Mal, go back to sleep. S'me."

Malcolm blinked at the dark silhouette in front of his bed, then closed his eyes again, relaxing. The intruder in his cabin was only Trip, a welcome and expected visitor despite the nightly hour. Everything was as it should be.

His mind drifting on the edge of sleep, Malcolm listened to the rustling as Trip shrugged out of his uniform and doubtlessly left it on the floor again. By now, Malcolm was so used to the scattered articles of clothing that he dodged them in the morning without even thinking about it. Two soft thumps followed as Trip kicked his boots under the bed, then the mattress wobbled as the engineer climbed into the narrow bunk with him.

Malcolm lifted a corner of the comforter in silent invitation. In the darkness of his windowless cabin, he could only just make out the outlines of Trip's form as the other man crawled under the covers with him. A moment later, he was pulled into a gentle spoon, Trip's left hand settling on its customary place on Malcolm's stomach. The fine hair on his chest brushed against Malcolm's back.

"Night Mal."

Malcolm sighed contentedly. Yes, as far as he was concerned, everything was just as it should be.

* * *

"Mal?"

"Mmmmhhhphhh."

"Malcolm? Wake up, Mal."

"Just a few more minutes, luv."

A soft chuckle. "Well, it's been a few minutes already."

Malcolm opened his eyes. Trip was sitting on the edge of his bed, fully dressed in civilian clothes and smiling at him.

"Mornin', darlin'."

A glance at the alarm clock sent a surge of adrenaline through Malcolm's veins. "Bloody hell! Why didn't you wake me, Trip? It's almost 0900-"

He flung the covers aside, about to jump out of bed when Trip's hand came down on his shoulder. "Easy, Mal. I deactivated the alarm last night."

"You what??"

Trip only smiled at his outraged tone. "Cap'n and I figured you'd deserved a good night's sleep. Don't worry, Mal, you don't gotta be on duty till after lunch. Now that we've got that settled..."

The next thing Malcolm knew, Trip had claimed his mouth and was kissing him so thoroughly that all thoughts of schedule and duty fled his mind. When the engineer leaned back again, Malcolm was sporting a goofy grin and found that he wasn't all that set on getting out of bed... at least not yet.

"Happy birthday, Mal," Trip said. "Wait, I got somethin' for you."

He dove out of sight, reappearing again with a tray in his hands. "Breakfast in bed specially for ya."

Malcolm surveyed the tray. All of his favorites were there – pancakes, scrambled eggs with bacon, fresh rolls and butter, waffles, and, prominently in the middle of it all, a large piece of pineapple coffee cake with toasted pecans and a candle on top.

"Trip, that's lovely. But you didn't have to go to the trouble."

Trip looked surprised. "It's your birthday! Course I did."

Malcolm smiled. "Well, now that we've got all of this here... why don't we enjoy it together? I don't think I can eat all of this myself."

Trip grinned. "Jus' what I'd hoped you'd say."

He reached for the waffles, but Malcolm caught his hand. "Oh no, Mr. Tucker. Breakfast in bed means breakfast in bed. Get in. That," he added, tugging at Trip's Hawaiian shirt, "stays outside, though. I don't want to share my bed with an assortment of dolphins, parrots and palm trees, especially not on my birthday."

With a mock scowl in his direction, Trip set the tray down on the floor and began to pull off his shirt. "I'll have you know I picked that shirt specially for ya."

Malcolm grinned. "Well, I think I prefer you without any shirt at all." He tilted his head to one side, pretending to consider. "I believe the same goes for the trousers as well."

Trip had already unzipped his jeans and dropped them next to the bed. "Scoot over, Lieutenant."

"Aye sir."

Malcolm made room for Trip to climb in next to him, and suddenly found himself flat on his back, straddled by a very smug-looking Chief Engineer. He tried to move, but his wrists were firmly pinned to the mattress. The evil grin on Trip's face didn't bode well.

"I ain't got any wet sponge, Loo-tenant, but that doesn't mean you're not gonna pay for all the grievous bodily harm you did me."

"Grievous bodily harm?" Malcolm repeated, his voice rising to an undignified squeak when Trip's fingers found a particular sensitive spot below his ribs.

Trip nodded. "Givin' me a heart attack when you pulled those covers out from under me, nearly burstin' my eardrums when you yelled at me, whackin' me with a wet towel, dumpin' me outta bed, torturin' me with a wet washcloth-"

He punctuated each point with a poke at Malcolm's ribs, and Malcolm wriggled in agony to escape the merciless fingers.

"Tri-ip... please... stop tickling..."

"You wish, birthday boy." Trip's hands had found _that _spot, right below his armpit, and to his horror Malcolm heard himself squeal.

"Trip, STOP!"

"Not until you say sorry," Trip grinned and reached behind himself, catching a hold of Malcolm's ankle. "I know how ticklish your feet are, Mal, and d'you know what happens when you tickle a guy for too long?"

Malcolm's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare-"

Fingers began to explore the sole of his right foot, and Malcolm exploded in laughter, trying to catch enough air to speak. He could have flipped Trip over easily enough, but he wasn't going to risk hurting him in the process. Malcolm knew he could never do that. Well, he might chase him out of bed with a wet towel, but those were exceptional circumstances.

"All right... I'm – stop it! – I'm sorry I used somewhat... drastic measures to get you out of bed – Trip, please!"

Finally – and, although Malcolm wouldn't have admitted it, just in time – Trip stopped tickling and leaned forward, his breath warm on Malcolm's face.

"Apology accepted. And I'll try to stop bein' such a pain in the ass in the mornin's, although I can't promise anythin'. My mama says it's a Tucker disease."

Malcolm wrapped his arms around Trip and pulled him down on top of him. "I trust it's not contagious."

Trip's smile grew wicked. "Oh, I don't know... depends on how close you get to me."

Malcolm smiled and kissed Trip, his hands stroking down Trip's back and further. "Well... in that case, I'll just have to take my chances."

The End

Please let me know what you think!


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